Crystal Doors #2: Ocean Realm (No. 2) (10 page)

Tiaret addressed the merlon king. “If those were your best fighters, then their training was inadequate.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, as if she were simply offering an observation.

“They were my commanders, my strongest fighters!” Barak pounded his webbed fist on the banquet table. “But strong is not enough. I need great, imaginative, and undefeated generals to lead my armies. How else can I complete the destruction of Elantya? Now that those two are slain, I must replace them with the best my merlons have to offer.”

Azric leaned over and whispered something in the king’s ear. Barak nodded vigorously. He made a snort, and swirls of water curled up from his fishy mouth. “I may care nothing for ancient tales about seal-breakers and crystal doors, but ancient customs are another matter. You make a good suggestion, Azric. A traditional merlon competition to choose new generals would be just the thing to lift my spirits.”

“Yes, King Barak.” Azric sounded pointedly patient. “And I will see that we use the talents of these children to free my immortal armies that have been locked away for centuries by the Great Closure. Only then can we bring back the golden days you’ve been longing for. You know the prophecy.”

Shimmers, shimmers of light,

Fallen to disgrace,

Glimmers, glimmers ignite,

Evil ones displace.

Swimmers, swimmers, unite,

Take your rightful place!

Churning, churning the wave,

All around the Key,

Turning, turning to save,

Freedom in the sea.

Yearning, yearning we crave,

Merlon victory!

Olden, olden the rage,

Higher yet it towers,

Bolden, bolden the Sage,

In the darkest hours.

Golden, golden the age,

That shall then be ours!

“You see, Barak, I am that sage who will lead you to victory and usher in the Golden Age of the Merlons.”

The king looked unconvinced. “Your hordes of immortal soldiers will bring thousands more land dwellers to our world. My first aim is to remove the blot of Elantya from my world. Stupid island! We must sink it and return Szishh to its pristine ocean environment. No dry land! The interlopers never asked our permission. They simply decided to create an island we did not need. That is the priority, Azric. We continue our plans. After we deal with Elantya, then we can play with your prophecy.” He stood, raising his clawed hand. “But before we start, I require new generals!”

Azric bowed. “Of course, King Barak. Choose your generals.” He nodded to Vic and Gwen and their friends. “And then I have other things to do with our new guests.”

“Naturally, one does not simply choose powerful generals at random,” the merlon king said to the captive apprentices as if he were teaching small children. “It must be done properly, in a magnificent combat. Yes, a combat! I demand it right now. Send word to any of my fighters who wish to be considered.” He addressed his potted plant creature, patting the eyeball tentacles. “You shall watch with me.” Then he bellowed for merlon servants. “Take away the table and the rest of this banquet. I have had my fill.”

Vic had just been getting up his nerve to taste the battle kraken when swimming servants yanked the platters away and disassembled the table.

“I will enjoy this very much.” Barak beamed at his new captives. “It is not often we have a death-joust with sea serpents. The perfect way to finish a meal!”

10

THE DEEP TRENCH IN front of the expansive underwater throne room served as the merlon king’s combat arena. With flashing light signals from luminescent pearls and pounding vibrations transmitted through the salt water, the merlon combatants were summoned to prove their military skills. Electric eels darted by, as if looking for something to shock.

King Barak leaned forward, his potted tentacled plant by his side. His slit-pupilled eyes were as round as saucers, and his fishy lips parted in an eager grin, showing needle teeth. Waiting in silence, Azric gave the capricious merlon king an indulgent smile.

“What’s going to happen?” Gwen wondered aloud.

Tiaret studied the preparations darkly. “I believe we are about to witness a trial by combat.”

“Cool,” Vic said. “All-star wrestling for monster mermaids.”

In the open water above the deep trench, they could see movement through the shimmering curtains of water, a long sinuous flicker and a splash of color. Six ferocious-looking sea serpents plunged toward the amazing underwater city.

“Look, they’re wearing combat armor,” Gwen said.

Each of the sea serpents wore a harness and metal spikes in addition to its already pointy fins and frills. Brass horns had been strapped onto their heads, and overlapping seashell armor plates and hammered silver shields were attached to vulnerable spots near the gills. Long feelers protruded from around the serpents’ mouths like the whiskers of a catfish.

Each great serpent carried a merlon rider who sat in a sturdy saddle strapped to its scaly back. Several of the merlon candidates carried iron-hard spears tipped with wicked-looking points made of narwhal tusks. Vic decided he wouldn’t have wanted to fight against even the weakest of these champions.

The six candidates wrestled their sea serpents into some semblance of order and presented themselves before King Barak. One combatant was a muscular male with a black frill that glistened like obsidian smeared with oil; he carried a jagged spear, and at his side hung a barbed hook connected to a braided silken rope. Across his chest, like war medals, he wore five calcified starfish whose arms had been sharpened to menacing points.

Another burly merlon had a square chest with plated scales like the belly of a crocodile. He wore the shell of a sea turtle on his back. Swimming in among them, a golden-skinned female merlon rode a coppery sea serpent, which reared like a hard-to-control stallion. Goldskin ducked and bobbed on the back of her mount like a flexible seaweed frond curling in a current. The other three merlon candidates had their own quirks and weapons; all of them bore scars that gave evidence of the many other vicious duels they had been in.

Near the edge of the open fighting space, a corral made of lumpy coral bars held hungry-looking sharks, each with a prominent symbol branded onto its dorsal fin.

Viewing the challengers, Barak stood up from his seat, unfolding his long arms and legs. He waved his webbed hands and bellowed with vibrating words through the water. “I, Barak, king of all merlons, require the best fighters so that we can destroy the humans and erase the island of Elantya from our world. I have already lost my two best generals — hmm, that means they must not have been my best. They were weak! I cannot afford to have weaklings. Are any of you strong enough to command?”

All six responded with bubbling, defiant cheers.

“Then show me which two of you are the strongest,” the king commanded, waving Tiaret’s teaching staff. “Let the battles commence!”

A school of dazzling scarlet fish was released from one of the tall towers, and the flurry of bright color, like spurting blood, served as a signal banner. The six merlon combatants pulled on the reins of their sea serpents and circled, buying time to prepare their weapons and choose their opponents.

The brawl began.

Blackfrill lowered his long spear and drove his sea serpent headlong toward a merlon with spotted skin. Spotskin responded in kind, deadly points aimed toward vulnerable areas.

“It’s like a jousting match.” Vic could hear and understand everything through the strange seashell mounted in his ear.

“If the merlons wish to fight and kill each other, then let them do so,” Tiaret grumbled.

Sharif stole a sidelong glance at the silent dark sage, who sat looking confident and patient. “Maybe there will be an accident. One of the merlons could mistakenly kill Azric.” Sharif sounded hopeful.

“Little chance of that,” Tiaret said. “These warriors handle their weapons well.”

Blackfrill and Spotskin collided with a vibrating crash that sent thrumming ripples through the water. The sharp lance point struck the seashell armor on the spotted merlon’s serpent. Blackfrill wrenched his spear forward and trailed a long gash on the ribs of the other serpent. While Spotskin struggled to control his frenzied mount, Blackfrill snatched one of the pointed starfish medals from his chest and with a cruel snap of his wrist, spun it like a throwing star. The sharp weapon swished through the water, and two of the points sank into Spotskin’s throat. He jerked, clawed at his neck, then drifted free from his saddle, dead.

The wounded sea serpent, lost without a rider or master, swam away, looking confused. Merlon handlers swiftly corralled it.

After the death of one of the six fighters, the thin coral bars on the underwater pen opened, and several branded sharks swam out. Ravenously hungry, they tore at the body of the dead merlon fighter, filling the water with drifting clouds of blood and making the view murky.

The other merlons did not pause in their dueling.

Vic found the joust absolutely riveting, but part of his mind told him that he should look away, that the practice was repulsive and decadent and immoral, like gladiator fights in ancient Rome. Yet there was another part of his mind that disagreed.

He and his friends were in a unique situation. As far as he knew, merlon civilization was unexplored, undocumented, a riddle waiting to be solved. And the sages could use this kind of knowledge to understand their enemy. Plus, there was that whole it-was-like-a-train-wreck-and-he-couldn’t-look-away thing. The five friends owed it to Elantya and the other worlds to learn as much as they could and then escape. Why had the merlons lived at peace for thousands of years and then, a mere century ago, taken action against all land-dwellers? Could it have been the influence of Azric and Orpheon? Azric certainly seemed to be calling the shots down here.

Goldskin goaded her sea serpent, which like the others had long brass horns strapped to its head. On a rampage, her serpent rammed her sharp-fanged opponent, knocking the fighter off of his mount. In each hand, the unseated Sharpfang held a scalloped scimitar with flow holes cut through the blades. He swung and slashed, but could not dodge the horns of Goldskin’s monster. The sea serpent gored him as he tried to defend himself with both curved swords.

Now two of the merlons were out of the fight.

No matter how many science fiction and fantasy books, TV shows, and movies Vic had read or watched, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw. This was real — as real as the attacks on Elantya and the Golden Walrus.

While square-chested Turtleshell fought his opponent, Blackfrill and Goldskin swam close to each other, having already bested their rivals. Vic expected them to attack each other, but instead of fighting, the pair quickly conferred.

As soon as Turtleshell dispatched his enemy, Blackfrill and Goldskin turned on him. Vic thought the tactic made perfect sense, since two merlons ganging up against another in the free-for-all had a far better chance of winning. Vic was no stranger to fighting and strategy. His mother, so paradoxically gentle, had taught him the art of zy’oah since he first began to toddle. He had memories of them practicing on the lawn in their backyard when he was young. Kyara would teach him a move, then “attack” him in various ways to allow him to practice the technique. Although as an instructor his mother was serious about her subject, many was the practice session that had ended with the two of them tumbling onto the grass laughing, using their quick zy’oah moves to tickle one another.

Blackfrill and Goldskin drove their sea serpents toward Turtleshell. Blackfrill removed his barbed hook and swung it on its silken cord like a grappling hook. He latched the back of the sea turtle shell, hooking the burly merlon, then reared his serpent back. The powerful undersea creature tore Turtleshell from his own mount.

Doing her part, Goldskin streaked upward. Their mutual enemy struggled, using a scalloped dagger to slash the cord connected to Blackfrill’s grappling hook. Goldskin found a vulnerable spot and thrust her long pointed trident deep into it. Seconds later Turtleshell was dead.

King Barak was both surprised and delighted by their unexpected cooperation. “Excellent, excellent! I want to do that again.”

“As delightful as this competition was,” Azric said in a silky voice, “you will need all of your warriors to fight the Elantyans.”

“The joust is a merlon tradition!” the king snapped. “It is how such decisions are made. Merlon generals must be prepared to give their lives to fight for their people. That is why the joust is to the death.”

“Hey, we’d like to see a few more combats,” Vic said, hoping to egg on the merlon king. “In fact, have all of your warriors kill each other.”

Gwen jabbed him and spoke in a rushed whisper. “Quiet, Taz! What if he decides to throw us into the gladiator arena to fight the sharks or sea serpents?”